On The Road
by deGorgeous
Summary: A series of drabbles based on the spoiler photos for the season half of the season. Emma and Hook go on a road trip.
1. When Do We Depart?

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(1)

Emma pulled on the hand brake as her yellow bug came to a full stop. Their bodies jostled at the rough shift, Hook's hands elevating slightly as a means of maintaining balance. His adjustment to sitting in the metal contraption, as he called it, was a gradual one. He never complained, she noted.

"This is my stop," she announced, pocketing the car keys and extracting the ones for her apartment from her leather jacket. Hook only nodded, still processing her earlier request.

She didn't leave right away; didn't feel the need to bolt from the potentially awkward situation. When she had suggested he go with her—to find something that might help everyone—the questions that followed were pragmatic: what were they looking for, how would they find it, where would they be headed.

Still, on the occasions when her eyes abandoned the road for the briefest of seconds, Emma could see his surprise that she'd ask _him_; that she'd want him to partake in something so important. After all he did for her family in Neverland and since, the pirate still felt like a villain. She'd stopped seeing him as one for weeks now. Although she couldn't pinpoint exactly when, he had become someone she trusted.

Henry couldn't go, she had explained. Still too weak from the lingering effects of the new curse; still not quite himself since his time with Pan. He needed to be here, at home, in Storybrooke. She'd give anything to spend every waking minute with her son (and Hook had reassured her that her guilt over potentially leaving him again was unfounded) but love was putting the needs of others before yourself. The principle was one he was quite familiar with.

Neal would stay with him and watch over a town he was only just starting to settle into. But Emma, with her prophesied greatness and the weight of everyone's happiness resting upon her next move: she needed to take action. She needed to head to New York.

"Look, I get if you don't want to go back there," she said, trying to get a response out of the usually talkative Captain. "Your first time wasn't so... pleasant." Being knocked unconscious and locked in a broom closet was a poor first day in the Big Apple, that much she could concede.

"I've faced much worse, lass," he laughed, the leather of his coat crinkling as he shifted in his seat. "And I love a challenge."

He looked at Emma with a knowing stare, his gaze steady, the dual meaning of his words not lost on her. And they were alone, isolated in her most precious possession in the vacant streets of Storybrooke. She leaned in, her shoulders parallel with his, one hand nervously wrapped around the steering wheel.

"I'd be honored," he breathed, eyes flicking momentarily to her lips before he reclined back into the passenger seat. "When do we depart?"

"Early." She practically moaned at the prospect of waking at the crack of dawn. She pushed down the butterflies in her stomach as she moved to open the car door. "I'll pick you up at 7:00."

He mirrored her movements, stepping out of the vehicle and joining her on the side of the street. She pressed her hips against the door, arms crossed over her chest as she waited for Hook to meet her.

"We're gonna need to get you out of those clothes."

The pirate grinned. "All you need to do is ask, darling." His tongue skimmed over his teeth, voice low as he stepped closer to her. She didn't flinch, actually smiling at his remark. He'd never get used to that.

"It wouldn't hurt to take a look around," she whispered, head jerking to the side. The bug was situated right outside of a clothing shop, the curved lettering of the storefront advertising _Modern Fashions_. Her parking spot was deliberate. "See you tomorrow."

She left Hook standing by her car as she crossed the street. He lingered there, scanning the location she recommended he enter. From the window display alone he determined the place contained nothing that would be to his liking, then made his way back to the docks. The fun was just about to begin.

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	2. Flat Tire

**A/N: In light of the newest spoilers for 3x12, I know these drabbles aren't really canon anymore. But for the sake of these little stories, I'm sticking to the idea of just Emma and Hook going on a road trip.**

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(2)

Hook stood on the edge of the road, flashlight in hand, watchful for an oncoming cars. The late afternoon sun was fading and the thick clouds effected their visibility. Being directly hit by a speeding car was not an experience he wished to repeat, but his main focus was Emma, bent down towards the back end of her bug.

During their drive, the vehicle had hit something and—as Emma had divined—one of their tires was punctured. After pulling over and examining the wheel in question, Hook had seen the frustration in her expression, as exhausted as the deflated tire she was inspecting.

It appeared this marvel of modern technology was more hassle than it was worth, but reminding her that they'd have been better off taking his ship only earned him a deathly glare. The Jolly Roger no longer had it's cloaking spell, she had argued, and after spending days aboard it she needed a change of scenery. "As you wish," was all he could reply.

The roadway was lacking in traffic, which was its main appeal when Emma decided to take it. Now, she was regretting being left so alone.

"Lend you a hand there, love?"

"Another one of your jokes?" she huffed, dusting off her legs as she rose.

"Simply trying to be of assistance." He waved the flashlight around, anticipating where Emma would walk to next so as to illuminate her path.

She made her way to the trunk, fingers tucked beneath the handle. Before opening it, Emma paused, chewing on her bottom lip as an idea began to form. She briskly returned to the offending tire, then took several steps back from it. Hook paced towards her, hand reaching out to prevent her from going further.

"What do you think you're doing, Swan?" he asked, a hint of panic in his tone. His eyes darted to either ends of the road.

"Trying something," she answered, never looking away from the piece of rubber. Emma kneaded her hands together before outstretching her arms, palms open and fingers rigid.

As the the only known practitioner of magic in this world, Emma needed to at least be a competent one. Gold and Regina's tutelage would have to be put to the test eventually. Emma knew she risked ruining her bug (images of it bursting into flames came to mind) but if she couldn't fix a flat tire, then maybe they didn't deserve to make it to New York.

With eyelids pressed shut, she pictured the moment she was reunited with her son in Neverland; her mother embracing her when when they'd figured out a way of allowing David to return with them; seeing the docks of Storybrooke for the first time in what felt like months; the way Hook had whispered "I told you you'd succeed" in her ear as they descended from his ship.

The pirate watched as the tire started to fill with air, the material puckering as it took shape. "Emma," he called out. "Look."

Hesitantly she opened her eyes and observed her work. She beamed with excitement, breaking into a sprint towards the car to feel the now full tire. She looked back at him and saw the most genuine smile on his face as he tucked the flashlight into his back pocket.

"Really, love," he teased, extending his hand out to help her stand. "Is there anything you _can't_ do?"

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	3. You Complete Me

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(3)

"I'd like a room," Emma called out from reception desk, fingers tapping against the polished wood as the female clerk approached.

The woman's eyes immediately went to the leather-clad man standing some feet away. Emma noticed the blush growing on the receptionist's cheeks and followed her gaze, finding Hook gawking at the modestly decorated lobby of the Days Inn, fiddling mindlessly at his fake left hand.

Smiling tightly, Emma began to list off the accommodation requirements—a short list, but one where the need for separate beds was emphasized. At that, the clerk had gaped at her in disbelief but typed on her key board without a word.

It had been years since Emma had stayed in such inexpensive lodgings; this place made the bed & breakfast in Storybrooke look like an extravagance. But with no guarantee of how long they'd be staying in the city, Emma chose the most economical option. They wouldn't be staying indoors much anyway, she had reasoned. The inn was just a place for them to sleep.

Hours after settling into their room—and after a few indirect comments from the pirate about the size of their beds and the unnecessary amount of space between them—Emma had laid down on her mattress, fully clothed with the exception of her boots and leather jacket. Despite her exhaustion, sleep would not come.

Hook drifted off every now and then, his presence made clear only when his curiosity resulted in something crashing onto the carpeted floor, his own shoes and coat discarded by the window.

"How about some television," she muttered, handling the remote control and flipping through the channels. She did so slowly, managing to keep the erratic sounds of abruptly ending commercials and interrupted voices to a minimum for the Captain's sake. The moving images, while engrossing, didn't surprise Hook the way Emma had expected them to.

"Ah yes," he hummed when she landed on the Discovery Channel. "I've seen this before, when I was in your town's infirmary." As the lion caught up with the fleeing gazelle, Emma smirked. She should give him more credit.

She eventually decided on _Jerry McGuire_, managing to catch it 10 minutes in as it played on the one the local stations. While Emma found the film less than thrilling, the fact that it left Hook speechless within the first few scenes had won her over.

Having traveled though several realms and encountering nearly every kind of magical spell, the idea of actually being able to _see_ a narrative unfolding before one's eyes never ceased to amaze Hook. Not just actors on a stage; they were always impeccably dressed as their parts, their set pieces so thoroughly convincing he felt as though he was glimpsing at reality. The people of this world took so much for granted.

This tale in particular—the story of a man vying for the affections of a blonde-haired beauty with a son—had a special resonance with him. He would glance over to Emma, who looked bored and on the verge of sleep every time, and hoped she was seeing the same connections he was. By the time the final act came, he could hear her snoring from the other side of the room. The credits rolled and Hook had to catch his breath as he fumbled with the device he had seen her use to bring the light box to life.

The next morning at the diner, as Hook struggled to determine which one of the coins sprayed before him was the _quarter_ the gentleman had requested, and Emma came to his aid by spotting him the rest of the tab, he could only look at her with awe and appreciation.

"What?" she asked irritably, gloved hands shooting into her pockets.

"Emma," he began, his voice low and raspy. "You… complete me."

She let out an inelegant laugh at that, shaking her head and already heading for the door. "No more movies for you."

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	4. Nightmares

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(4)

His eyes burst open as the last lingering remnants of his hallucinations faded from his mind, called to consciousness by the worried yet stern voice of his traveling companion. "_Hook_," she whispered hoarsely, one hand shaking his shoulder while the other rested tentatively on his cheek.

He mumbled something under his breath—a goodbye to the figures that haunted his dreams—and his vision returned to him, less blurred and no longer swirling violently. Every aspect of his character was intense, unwilling to die without a fight; why should his nightmares be any different?

As Hook shifted on the mattress, his black tunic absorbing the sweat on his neck and chest as it clinged to him, Emma moved to the edge of the bed, giving the Captain some space.

Her own hair was tussled, the strands on her crown sticking up at odd places. While sleep hadn't come easily to her she had managed to surrender to exhaustion. Hook, however, hadn't been as fortunate. Emma had heard his faint groans and labored breaths in the darkness and decided, with some convincing, to see if he was alright.

This wasn't the first time they'd slept near each other. Most of their journey in Neverland was spent sharing close sleeping quarters. So invested in rescuing Henry—and so eager to be rid of her own demons—that Emma hadn't been aware of Hook's troubled nights. It was only now, in the silence of the hotel room, with just the two of them, that things were becoming clear.

Hook rested on his elbows, his breathing less ragged. He glanced at Emma, whose form was turned away, respectful of his privacy. He thought of the time she had waited for him to awake in the hospital, hands in her lap and head turned at the same angle. But this time, there was an apparent sympathy in her eyes. _Not pity_, he noticed,_ but understanding_.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked slowly, cautiously.

He shook his head, his body collapsing onto the sheets. "Not really, no."

And she got that, she really did. He'd always been honest with her, never hesitant to share. But everyone had things they'd preferred to keep to themselves; things no amount of love or trust could pry from you until you were ready to reveal it.

As they stayed in the unabating stillness, a previous exchange between them fluttered in her mind. In Neal's cave, when Hook had pulled her aside to confide that he too knew what it meant to lose hope. She had been suspicious of his intentions, unwilling to believe his reasons for reaching out served any selfless purpose. Looking back, perhaps Hook had been trying to open up; trying to let more of himself be known. And in truth, she didn't really know much about him.

Emma had shut him down back then. She wouldn't do the same now.

She wasn't much for words of comfort or uplifting speeches. Actions spoke louder than words. It was more important, in Emma's opinion, to be there, to just show up.

The pirate moved to the other side of the twin-sized bed, only wearing his pants and shirt, trying to find the right position, his black prosthetic hand resting on the nightstand beside him. He just wanted to sleep.

There was just enough room for another person to lay down next to him. Emma flattened the creases on the blankets before occupying the space, one leg dangling off the edge. She heard him gasp faintly, just as surprised as she was by her actions. But he didn't turn around, didn't make a flirtatious remark about sharing a bed. He just laid there, with her.

Together they drifted off into a mostly peaceful sleep, facing each other when the morning came.

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	5. Partner

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(5)

Emma was tired.

She focused on the white puffs her breath created, the windows of her bug fogging up more and more as the minutes passed. The inside of her car was cold, but several degrees warmer than the temperature outside. Why she had decided to relocate all those years ago from the hot Floridian climate to the frigidness that was the Northeast she didn't fully grasp, not while her fingers were going numb and the tip of her nose was turning a bright red.

Emma could _feel_ the bags under her eyes. She managed to run on two and half hours of sleep and the crushing disappointment of making no progress. She had a few leads, some photographs and maps and records she had gotten her hands on since deciding to make the trip. When Hook had asked to take a look at them, she passed them off without hesitation. He wasn't as familiar with the documents of this world, true, but he was a skilled navigator and stickler for detail. Maybe he could see something she had missed.

And she couldn't help but watch him, sitting stoically in the passenger seat, his ears turning their own shade of red. His brows were furrowed in concentration, his thumb occasionally cascading along his jaw as though an idea was building only to be deconstructed as he would turn his attentions to another page. He was really _trying_ to help, much like he did in Neverland, with no apparent gain for himself. Emma would never get used to that.

He pointed to an address on one of the papers, jolting her fully awake. Said something about the location matching the scenery of the photographs; about the way the light reflected off the trees signaled the position of the sun. This was a man who made a living off reading the stars, centuries of experience adding a contagious confidence to his words. He would not lead her astray.

"Alright then," she said, thrusting her keys into the ignition. "Lead the way."

It only took them a couple of hours to find the place, and with it the guy Emma had been searching for. That _they_ had been searching for. With their backs leaning against a nearby building, they looked on as a man entered an apartment complex. The bits of gathered intel made sense to her now, a plan molding itself into shape as they turned the corner.

"We got him." She exhaled deeply, relief washing over her. Hook chuckled at the way her expression changed so quickly, so serious one moment then innocently jovial the next. The fact that she was sharing this success with someone, with him, felt good. "You were right."

"Does that surprise you?"

"Yeah," she answered dryly, gaze lingering on him as he looked away. "You've been doing that a lot lately," she stated with a bit more affection. Emma caught the hint of a smile on his lips, a self-deprecating sort of smirk that let her know how much he sought to prove himself, and how saddened he was each time he seemed to fall short. But he already had proven himself, she wanted to tell him. The problem—and yes, she could admit to herself that it was in fact a _problem_—was with her. "You'd make a hell of a bail bondsman."

It may have been the nicest thing she'd ever said to him. He looked up, meeting her eyes again. There was no façade; no ego; no walls. "Thank you," he remarked, with the utmost sincerity.

"If, I don't know," Emma began, staring down at her feet. It didn't help ease the pressure off what she was about to say; she could still feel him staring intently, expectantly. "If I was still doing this sort of thing—if I wasn't the sheriff back home—I think... you would've made a good partner."

Hook grinned, the skin around his eyes wrinkling. His hopes of earning her heart were becoming that much stronger. He knew what a large step her admission had been; how vulnerable it must have made her feel.

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that, love," he teased, lightening the mood. This she could handle. "You seem to be quite capable on your own." He stepped in front of Emma, opening the car door for her with a slight flourish. "But if you need help with _other_ matters"—he moved closer to her, whispering into her ear—"I believe that can be arranged."

She rolled her eyes at his attempted flirtation, but touched his hand as she stepped into her bug. They really did make quite the team.

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	6. The Other Left

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(6)

**prompt: "No, the ****_other_**** left"**

Hook strolled across the lobby of the hotel, ignoring the stares from the other residents as he passed, their expressions ranging from bewilderment to amusement to fear. After almost a week in New York, he'd grown accustomed to the effect his unusual appearance had. The people of this city could disregard a practically nude man with a guitar and over-sized hat in the _Times Square_ they'd visited several times, but somehow he was the odd duck among them? It didn't make sense.

While he wasn't delighted by the idea of being locked away in their room, leaving it was just as tiresome. He'd learned to spend many days in the darkness below the deck of his ship. Certainly this was no challenge. But Emma—who had promised to only step out for 15 minutes—had yet to return. The pirate was getting concerned.

The main floor of the Days Inn was easy enough to navigate. Tiny metallic plates fastened to each corner signaled the location of the most important places. Bathrooms. Lounge. Gaming area. Reception desk. All places Emma had not been found in. Then he caught a loud clanking sound, a drumming against plastic and alloy.

He heard her growls of frustration before he saw her, a wide grin emerging on his face against his will. Alone, knelt down upon the carpeted ground, one hand shoved deep within a large machine, the other pushing against thick glass, was Emma Swan. She was caught in a struggle with the hefty object, which was filled with an assortment of bagged treats and bottled drinks. A vending machine, she had once called it.

"I believe I had a dream like this once," he chirped, body leaning against the entrance of the break room. Emma stilled immediately, only able to turn her head awkwardly in his direction. Her golden hair fell over her shoulder, her huffed breaths making the strands dance.

"Don't," she commanded, going back to the task at hand.

"I can't help it if your current state brings back such _vivid_ memories." His words dripped with boorish intent, his voice taking on a husky quality.

Emma snickered, her head shaking back and forth. He was unbelievable. "Well since you're here, you may as well be of use." She jerked her neck, beckoning him to join her. "I could use some help."

"I'd love to be of service, darling," he replied, speech still slurred and coy. "How exactly did you get yourself in such a predicament?"

Her explanation was a jumbled mixture of modern terminology and phrases that mostly went over his head. He nodded, though, pretending to understand as he bent down beside her. From what he gathered, Emma had attempted to purchase some food but the coveted item had become trapped within the machine. She assumed she could slip her arm under the latch that now held her captive. She had been wrong.

At his insistence, Emma shifted to allow him to adjust himself in front of the mechanism's opening. Her right arm keeping her close, Hook reclined his back against the ample contraption, it's buzzing pulsing into his muscles. He faced her, could see the sweat on her forehead and crooked nature of her shirt collar.

"Allow me," he said, lifting his hook. The appendage could travel where human flesh could not, thin and sturdy enough to pry Emma free. _Her hero. _

She removed her hand quickly, rubbing it to restore blood flow. She muttered a breathy thanks, head tilting to rest against the transparent plastic. "My pleasure," was his only response, not even making eye contact with her. He was now dealing with a problem of his own.

As he tried to remove his namesake from the narrow passage, it caught against the trap door at the bottom. He tugged roughly but made no progress. "Mind returning the favor, love?"

Emma felt a small pang of embarrassment that he should find himself in the same position he had just rescued her from, but was primarily consumed by the ridiculousness of the scene before her. Here was Captain Hook, infamous swashbuckler, who had faced the Dark One and lived to tell the tale; who aided in defeating the demonic Peter Pan; who survived portals and car wrecks and sword fights: undone by a vending machine.

He couldn't blame her for laughing, but the hysterical manner in which she did so was unnecessary. Hook wasn't fond of being subjected to such ridicule, and still he couldn't stay angry for long. Had never even actually felt angry to begin with. Not when her giggling echoed throughout the halls; not when her face lit up in a way rarely seen. Not when she was playfully shoving him in an attempt to cheer him up.

Her abs were sore and eyes filled with tears. Emma hadn't laughed like that in ages. She could hear the gentle chuckles from the pirate, who was gazing at her in a way that made her chest tighten. She edged closer to him, raising her fingers to his trapped forearm.

From her vantage point, she could determine how best to get him out, spitting out verbal instructions for him to follow. "Move a little down… too far… no, the other left." Within a few minutes he was saved, and praised her leadership skills all the way back to their room.

"Next time you decide to take a little trip," he advised while shutting the door behind them, "do try to keep yourself out of trouble."

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	7. Flip A Coin

**A/N: This'll be the last drabble for awhile. I don't have any more ideas at the moment and all prompts have been filled. Don't know if I'll add more to this, so for now this is it. Thanks for the all the feedback!**

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(7)

She fiddled with the coin in her hand, mindlessly turning it over and over again as she stared blankly at the wall of the TD Bank she'd decided to loiter in. Wallet in hand, filled with newly withdrawn cash, Emma was pleasantly surprised by the state of her checking account. Not as poor as she had thought; her frugality had served them well.

The Food Emporium would be her next stop but she couldn't find it in her to make the trip. Not again. Frozen dinners and pre-packaged meals could only take her so far, and while she was sure Hook had managed with much worse in his many years of existence, she felt it unfair to subject him to living like the runaway she used to be.

And there were other reasons why they had only gone out for breakfast or lunch. There were no expectations with those; no romantic subtext she would have to deal with. They were on a mission, and the fact that they had to share a room every night was enough for her to handle. But now she wanted to take a leap. She wanted to actually have _real_ food somewhere.

She'd had a friend—though the term was used loosely—who told her something that had always stayed with her. Whenever you were stuck between two options, flip a coin. It never failed, her friend had assured, and Emma had never really understood why. Emma wasn't one to let chance decide her fate. When she made a decision it was backed by hours of thought and logic and preparation.

Emma was sick of thinking. Of preparing. She wanted to take a chance.

She waited for one of the lingering customers to leave the waiting area, watching the businessman walk beyond the glass doors before she set her sights on the eroded quarter in her hand. Heads, she doesn't do it; doesn't suggest that they go to a restaurant or bar to celebrate a recent (if small) victory. Tails, she does.

With closed eyes and a held breath, she flicked the coin with her thumb, the round piece of metal spinning through the air. She caught it with a swift motion, clutching at it in her fist for longer than normal. _Really?_ she scolded herself. _Just let go._

Emma smacked the quarter against the back of her hand, George Washington's profile glaring back at her. "Heads," she sighed cheerlessly, arms going limp against her bent legs.

Then she remembered the rest of her friend's wisdom. That flipping a coin had a way of revealing what you really wanted. That if it landed on the option you desired, you'd have no problem with the result. But if it landed on the one you didn't, you'd know in an instant. You'd feel a tug of disappointment, wishing the outcome had been different.

Emma wished the outcome had been different.

A secret smile formed on her lips. The teenagers huddled by the ATM machines looked at her in confusion, giggling at the randomness of her behavior. She couldn't care less. Emma collected her things then briskly left the bank branch with a bit more energy than she had when she walked in nearly an hour ago.

She was going to ask Captain Hook out to dinner.

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End file.
